


1: Lebanon, Kansas

by Tor_88



Series: Misadventures of Crowley and Squirrel [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bars and Pubs, Demon Dean Winchester, Karaoke, Multi, Road Trips, misadventure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 11:04:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16386668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tor_88/pseuds/Tor_88
Summary: After months of scheming, Crowley finally has the perfect weapon, a Knight of Hell. With Dean Winchester embracing his dark side; Crowley hopes to have a new ally and co-ruler of Hell.10 states, 10 songs, 10 cocktails......what could possibly go wrong?





	1: Lebanon, Kansas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CaetyLou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaetyLou/gifts).



Crowley stood over the bed, he saw Dean’s arm twitch as the First Blade rested across his chest. His lip curled a little, his eyes narrowed as he saw his plan come into fruition, ‘0pen your eyes Dean, let’s go take a howl at that moon.’

Crowley stood a moment, anticipating and secretly hoping all the stories, he’d heard over the years were true. Just as he was beginning to lose faith, Dean’s eyes sprung open, the usual hues of green had been replaced by a pair of jet black spheres, before closing just as quickly.

‘Well, I’ll be a son of a whore.’ Crowley muttered almost dumbfounded.

Another moment passed, Dean’s eyes flickered some more before he abruptly lurched forward, sitting up. ‘What the hell have you done to me Crowley?’ He demanded, his eyes returning to their natural colouring.

‘A second chance,’ Crowley answered.

‘You son of a bitch,’ Dean growled as he looked down at his right arm. He could feel the blades power, The Mark gently throbbing as it was united with its other half. The sudden surge of power drained Dean and his head fell back onto the memory foam pillow.

‘Poor Squirrel, such a tiring day.’ Crowley mocked as he carefully extracted the blade from Dean’s hand and returned it to his inner jacket pocket. ‘Can’t let you run around with this now, can I?’ As he stepped away from the bed and headed toward the doorway he heard Sam’s footsteps heading towards them, ‘Bad luck Moose,’ Crowley muttered as he snapped his fingers.

Sam approached the doorway, fully expecting to see Dean’s lifeless body on the bed; only to discover an empty room and a folded piece of paper on the pillow. He walked towards it, tentatively picking it up. He scanned it, panic flashed across his features, The note dropped out of his hand and he raced out of the room heading for the garage. As it landed, like an open butterfly it read four simple, but devastating, words in Dean’s handwriting, ‘Sammy, let me go.’

***********************************

The room Crowley had brought them to was not his idea of a bolt hole. The walls were a drab magnolia, with mysterious multi-tonal stains, twin beds, complete with matching hospital blue covers, that looked about as comfortable as a bed of nails, and a threadbare green carpet. But, it was out of the way enough that Sam wouldn’t immediately find them. Crowley had ensured that Dean remained horizontal, couldn’t allow the goods to get damaged; after all he had plans for him.

Dean began to stir, he looked around his surroundings, ‘Where the hell am I?’ he uttered to himself.

‘Still Lebanon….still Kansas, different venue,’ Crowley said, as he sat in the middle of the other bed.

‘Crowley,’ Dean exhaled as he began to sit up, ‘I thought I was having a nightmare.’

‘Afraid not… Moose was closing in so...hop, skip and a jump to this….’ Crowley paused, glanced around the room and shuddered, ‘charming establishment.’

Dean got up and walked over to the mirror, gave himself a quick once over before glancing at The Mark. He felt Crowley watching him from across the room. Dean felt his anger build, he balled up his right hand and slammed it into the mirror frame, the only way to release the rage. For a moment, clarity hit Dean and he redirected his focus onto Crowley.

‘You knew The Mark would do this?’ Dean murmured. Without warning he charged at Crowley growling, ‘you son of a bitch.’ As he did, Crowley blinked out and Dean grabbed the empty space left by his intended target.

Just as quickly as Crowley had disappeared he returned in the doorway with his signature Glencraig whiskey in a glass tumbler. ‘Drink?’ He questioned before disappearing again.

Dean staggered through the doorway and followed the faint tune of a song, he couldn’t quite make out, to the bar. As he entered, he heard the full force of the sound system, he took a few steps forward as he heard, ‘There's a bad moon on the rise...’ He felt a pang as he remembered the last time he'd heard Bad Moon Rising, with Sam. Dean was quickly distracted by the complex smells of stale beer, greasy food and aged sweat. He took a moment to take it all in; he felt a sense of relief as he realised he was happy to be there. It felt familiar, almost like home. ‘I need a drink,’ he grumbled.

The beaten mahogany bar, with black and red bar stools, took pride of place in the centre of the room; complete with a multitude of glass bottles filled with an array of colours, a functional alcoholic’s dream candy store. Dean looked over to see Crowley on a gaffer tape patched bar stool.

‘Took you long enough,’ Crowley stated, keeping his gaze fixed on his drink.

‘Shut up.’ Dean snipped as he sat down. ‘What is that?’ He questioned, nodding towards the glass clutched in Crowley's hand.

‘Apparently, it’s called The Pendergast,’ he took a sip of the amber coloured liquor, the lemon twirl brushing against his lip, ‘hmm not nearly as sexy as its namesake.’ He said as put the glass down, ‘Now that guy could do a deal…. almost as smoothly as myself.'

Dean rolled his eyes, ‘I’ll have a beer,’ he called to the barman. Within seconds he had a drink in front of him and drained half the bottle in one long swallow.

‘This was your plan all along?’Dean finally said, irritation in his voice, as he put the bottle down, ‘making me your bitch.’

Crowley’s jaw dropped, ‘I would never.’

‘Oh come on, with me off the table you’re down to one Winchester hunting your sorry ass.’ Dean grumbled.

‘Please! Even on my worst day I can easily outwit the both of you on your best day.’ Crowley remarked, almost offended by Dean’s comment.

Dean took a sip from his beer, choosing to ignore Crowley. ‘Sammy maybe,’ he thought as a glimmer of a smirk crept over his face.

The two men sat in silence, watching other patrons go about their business through the reflection of the bar mirror. Dean drained the dregs of his beer and immediately gestured for another. As he sat there, he began thinking about the reality of his situation. What was he now? A Demon? Something that should be dealt with as soon as possible or a hunter with a little bit extra. A small realisation began to form, maybe he wasn’t so eager to be the latter.

‘It’s for your own good you know,’ Crowley remarked, as he signalled the bartender to bring him another cocktail.

Dean balled up his fist and thumped the counter, emitting a tremor that caused the bowl of peanuts to rock, ‘I do not need you to tell me what’s good for me.’

‘You must have realised that the Mark would lead you here…,’ Crowley saw the look of puzzlement on Dean’s face and rolled his eyes, ‘obviously not...Cain received The Mark from Lucifer himself, a reward for bad behaviour if you will. At first, he played the loyal solider and did what he was told. But over time The Mark corrupted him, like its current and previous owner. As The Mark took hold Cain’s once good intentions became the foundations for the perfect demon.’ Crowley took a sip of his drink. ‘But it wasn’t until Cain was mortally wounded that The Mark took over and transformed his already twisted soul into a Knight of Hell, just like Abbadon, only difference was he’s the original.’

‘Is there a point to this?’ Dean questioned as he slightly tilted his head to the right his brows furrowed a flash of confusion swept across his face.

Crowley narrowed his eyes and sighed. ‘The point is, Cain gave up everything to keep Lucifer from getting his grubby little hands on his precious little brother and lost everything, including Abel, in the process. It stands to reason you would get it, I mean you basically throw your life away if Sam so much as sneezes.’

Dean opened his mouth as if to say something but sighed and lowered his gaze so he was looking at the bar counter.

‘Now is your chance to be more then just Moose’s glorified babysitter.’ Crowley grabbed Dean’s shoulder, Dean flinched as he felt the foreign hand invade his personal space. ‘Your a Knight of Hell. This pathetic excuse for a world has become yours for the taking.’

Dean glanced over his shoulder, shrugged off Crowley’s hand and turned back to the bar, ‘You mean yours for the taking.’ He snapped, ‘or are you just along for the ride?’

‘Together...we would take this world together.’ Crowley asserted.

Dean massaged his temples with left thumb and middle finger, ‘you are so full of crap.’

‘You need time to adjust, embrace your new found freedom.’ Crowley lifted his glass, ‘soon you’ll be thanking me.’ He said as he took a sip.

‘Freedom? Do you really think that this,’ Dean’s eyes flickered to black before returning back to green, ‘ is fucking freedom.’

‘It's better this way….you’ll see.’ Crowley stated, as he swirled the lemon twist in his cocktail.

Dean slammed the beer on the counter, shattering the bottle and spilling its contents all over the bar, leaving him with shards in his hand. Seething with rage, he lifted it to Crowley’s face, the palm almost touching his nose, and as he pulled out the first shard without a single flinch, he spat, ‘how is this better?’ As he finished the sentence the cut had already healed.

Crowley caught a droplet of blood on his finger, as it trickled down to the base of Dean's palm, then with the tip of his tongue licked it off. He paused for a moment savouring the taste. ‘Have you not heard of the top shelf?’ he queried.

Dean glared at Crowley. Crowley equalled it and allowed it to linger before finally relenting; he took a short sigh, 'The Mark likes to keep its owner in peak physical condition.’ He stopped reached out his hand and, with his knuckles, slowly glided it down the contours of Dean’s cheek. ‘Your pretty face will never scar again.’

Dean flinched, jerking his head away and almost losing balance; once he settled he flagged the barman for another. ‘Great...just...Great.’ Dean rolled his eyes and sighed. ‘Do you have any more good news for me?’ He remarked as he took a sip of beer.

‘Well given your track record,’ Crowley paused, ‘and your almost fanatical co-dependency issues, it stands to reason that Moose will think you need to be fixed,’ He leaned in a little, ‘and if you wanted that, you would have run home,’ he paused, ‘not to the bar….to me

‘I’ve just been stabbed in the chest by a frigging pygmy angel, and become the King of Hell’s new pet project….I think I EARNED a drink.’ Dean spat, as he felt The Mark throb. He took a low shallow breath, in an attempt to calm down, ‘besides I can’t be cured, so why waste time.’

‘Now your thinking like a demon.’ Crowley beamed. ‘With The Mark you can achieve everything your, now dark, little heart desires.’ He purred.

‘No responsibility?’ Dean asked. For the first time in his life he would be free to do whatever he wanted and not worry about his Dad’s approval, what Sam was up to or feeling like a total failure at life. Dean lowered his head, the centre of his forehead brushing the thick rim of the bottle.

Another period of silence followed, Crowley looked at Dean through the mirror, curling his lip as he saw Dean wrestle with his thoughts.

‘Shall we go then?’ Crowley eventually asked as he finished his drink and set the glass down.

Dean tilted his head slightly, his brows furrowed, ‘where?’

‘Well with me it’s a cornucopia of booze, birds and as many bar fights you start or…’ Crowley paused ensuring he had Dean’s attention, ‘…you can always run home to Moose.’

Dean’s posture stiffened, he felt a slither of guilt flood his consciousness, ‘What makes you think I’d do that this time?’

‘You only care about Sam’s happiness, and for while Sam was happy wasn’t he? With Amelia. He was so close to leaving it all behind, the life he never wanted, the life that has cost him so much. With you gone he could have a chance at that life again. Meet a girl, settle down, white picket fence and a herd of mini moose’s running around but we know that life’s not for you.'Crowley looked directly at Dean and moved a little closer, ‘We both know what running home leads to...a bit of Latin and a lot of blood.Gigantor ultimately fails and either he has to kill you and take your place...’ Crowley paused, ‘making him the perfect target for Cain’s unique brand of retribution or you end up rearranging his vocal cords…..on the outside.’ He got up from his seat and headed for the exit. ‘You and me Dean, we could be bigger than Mary-Kate and Ashley. No time stamp...no expiration date.’ Crowley stopped and looked over his shoulder, ‘This way you could both be happy. Or stay here…’

Dean mulled over his choices, ‘I need something from the Bunker...’

‘Wonder what,’ Crowley muttered as he rolled his eyes.

‘...Baby. She comes along or no deal,’ Dean let out a long and defeated sigh, ‘But Sam can’t know.’

‘Hiding from Moose...original,’ Crowley snapped, as he left the bar.

Dean finished his drink and put $10 on the counter, ‘Bye Sammy,’ he uttered to himself. He knew he would probably never see his brother again or if he did he'd be at the end of a gun. He'd become something they hunted.

**A monster.**


End file.
